


Moments

by Syan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, General fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5326508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syan/pseuds/Syan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four moments Fenris found peace (and love) in Kirkwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments

**Author's Note:**

> Another oldie from 2011.

There are moments when Fenris feels he can forget. When the sun kisses his rich, dark skin and eats away the foreboding, the hurt and the agony. When the breeze picks up just enough to push stark white strands of hair out of his vision, and just barely he can feel the tilt of his lips and the curve upward. Sometimes these moments are short, there and gone in seconds, as if a whisper of something that he will never cling to. That will never properly fasten itself to him. At other moments it seems to linger, and he briefly can believe that things will be better.

And even when it washes away and he is left with the mere realization that it is gone; sometimes there are moments when he can find some solace in it. When it doesn’t ache so badly. When the stones beneath his feet aren’t so hard, the air of Kirkwall doesn’t seem so oppressive, and thick. And for those brief moments, with the sun kissing his lyrium marred flesh, and stones merely warm against his bare feet, all is alright.

And he can smile, ever so slightly, to himself; before he must return to the present and move on again.

 

* * *

 

There are moments like these, as the first rays of warm light press through the gaps of heavy red curtains, casting long lines across crimson dyed bedding. Where he is nestled close against a hair laden chest; the man’s shallow breaths seeking to draw him back into the pleasant stupor of sleep. The first smells to greet his still sleep hindered senses are the natural, thick musk of his lover, the dead embers of the fire, and the still warmth in the air as it is heated by long shafts of sunlight. And the barest hint of the still heady scent of their coupling the night before.

There are moments like these when Fenris feels at peace, ear pressed against Hawke’s breastbone, listening to the gentle rhythm of his heart. Hearing each intake and exhale of breath. Feeling the warmth of battle and sun tanned skin. If he tilts his head back a bit, he can nuzzle gently, secretly into the dark beard, the hair brushing coarsely against his skin. And a smile curls slowly over his lips. If he leans away from the intimate embrace a bit more, he can see Hawke’s face. The gentle ease that paints and masks he features in a peaceful grace. Removes the troubled pull of his brow, or the irritated grimace from his lips. Mossy green eyes dancing over the planes of his face, lips, cheek bones, the slope of his forehead disappearing beneath mussed strands of hair; flitting over long since familiar details.

He can linger like that, watching the man sleep, silently finding solace in the shallow breaths. His ear twitching suddenly as Hawke’s breathing changes, when a slow smile pulls over tired lips; and reluctantly golden eyes open. Immediately turning their gaze down to him as that infectious smile curls pleasingly upward still.

These are moments he relishes, the calm, simple press of Hawke’s hands against his back, fingers slowly tracing each coil and wind of the lyrium. Breath warm against his face, as he leans in to press butterfly kisses against his brow, his cheeks, his nose. Until their lips meet, joining in languid, lazy kisses, containing none of the passion of the night before. Bodies pressed and intertwined together, not in thick, heady passion and lust; but in slow caresses and comfort, cradled in each other’s arms. Kissing until their lips are swollen, and simply watching each other, matching curves to their lips.

Everything may not be alright in the world, but for a few fleeting moments he can pretend it is.

 

* * *

 

There are moments when Fenris finds himself surprisingly at peace with the mage. When his mind isn’t clouded with frustration and disinterest, eager to start another verbal exchange that may lead to new gashes and bruises and scuffs for them both. When all he really needs is to trail his fingers against the thick, prominent stubble on Anders’ jaw line. Sharing silent breaths, and half glances. He can see the smile in the mage’s brown eyes before it makes it to his lips, the quiet mirth dancing and glittering. And the frustrated pull of his own lips for once isn’t in real irritation.

Littering half kisses against the rough grain, where the pads of his fingers had been. Fingers moving up, brushing against the mage’s temples before slipping into strawberry strands and curling gently around. He can feel the barely suppressed laughter, hear the way Anders tries desperately to swallow the mirth. And Fenris cannot hold back the huff of breath; lips drawing thin again a moment as he notes the pleased… humored grin on the mage’s own lips. He presses his nose against Anders’ jaw line, and half nuzzles, pausing as he hears a quickly drawn breath… And then again, continuing the routine; waiting to see if Anders will be able to control his urge to laugh and prattle at him this time.

There are moments when he truly is surprised how at peace he can be like this, lifting his head slowly… And for all the irritation that seems to flicker in moss green eyes, he feels less of it than before. There is a twitch of a half smile at the corner of his mouth, brown eyes glinting and brows drawn together apologetically. And Fenris gives up, dipping in to bring their lips together; Anders’ fingers dragging against the lyrium scars, quick sparks crackling against his richly colored flesh as the marks flare to life at the mage’s touch. Inn a heated embrace again, his face nestled near an ear as half formed whispers and pleased groans free themselves, and Anders’ lips clinging possessively to a patch of lyrium imbued flesh on his neck, marking him again.

All of it still confusing, dizzying, and frustrating… But for a few moments, it doesn’t matter so much.

 

* * *

 

There are moments when nothing seems to truly matter. When Fenris finds himself nestled against her collarbone, sated in an afterglow. It’s all physical, but for short times they are intertwined together, all long limbs and deep, rich, dark flesh. The pale lyrium suddenly that much brighter in contrast to both of their bodies. He can feel her heartbeat still in these moments, the quickened pulse that is slowly ebbing, returning to normal. She is warm, and soft, yet strong and hard. He can almost hear her chuckling faintly, or he thinks so… But for these moments it doesn’t matter, the sweat slowly drying against his brow, white strands of hair a haphazard mess clinging to their damp skin.

At times he moves up again, to look into Isabela’s honey colored eyes. Noting the sated look, something he is certain he shares; though that isn’t at the forefront of his mind. Sometimes her lips curl pleasingly, eyes glinting, shimmering faintly. Other times she merely observes him observing her. At times their hands find their way together, his nose tucked into damp strands of her sable hair, fingers intertwining. But all… or most of it is silent. Things they do not mention or note until they find their way together again. And, in these moments, it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t mind, it is alright. There doesn’t need to be anymore.

Their lips find their way back together again, as the heated rush of need takes over once more. His hands tracing the curves of her body, as if he isn’t completely familiar with them, as if it is the first time. Her hands against his shoulders, nails sometimes biting in briefly, other times dragging over his marked flesh, eliciting low growls and quick gasps. His head nestled closely to her breast. And she is warm, and soft, yet confident and strong, sure even when there is a brief flicker of doubt, helping him along, guiding him if he wishes, or letting him lead. Whatever it takes to reach that heady completion once again.

And in the brief, lingering moments, there isn’t a care in the world… And that is alright.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to blabber at me about my fics/drabbles or Dragon Age in particular, feel free to hit me up on Tumblr! I go by Syndriel there.


End file.
